Pochi gruppi riescono a dividere come i Phish. Chi li idolatra e chi li odia, ritenendoli incapaci di scrivere melodie memorabili, o di saper fare buoni album in studio.
Per conto suo la critica li ha bellamente ignorati per anni, dando spesso giudizi quantomento controversi, innalzando sugli scudi un disco noioso e senza guizzi come Billy Breathes, e trascurando invece i primi fondamentali episodi della loro discografia. E mentre da noi rimangono tutto sommato un fenomeno di culto, negli States fanno concerti oceanici, resi veri e propri eventi dalla loro strabiliante capacità di improvvisazione, che ne fa assieme a Grateful Dead e Allmann Brothers la più grande jam-band della storia della musica rock, un gruppo capace di dilatare dal vivo per ore lo stesso pezzo, con trovate sempre nuove, scatenati nel travestirsi ora da Mahavishnu Orchestra, ora da Allman Brothers, ora da Dixie Dregs.
Hanno come i Dead uno zoccolo duro di fans (anzi di "phans"), i Phish-heads, un pubblico assolutamente inclassificabile e trasversale che li segue adoranti ovunque e che sembra divertirsi moltissimo: più che concerti quelle dei Phish sono vere e proprie feste, in un clima quasi surreale per l'allegria esagerata che si respira, tra palloni tirati sul pubblico che decideranno dovre condurrà l'improvvisazione a seconda del rimbalzo, tappeti elastici e trovate goliardiche d'ogni tipo.
Inquadrare il suono dei Phish in un genere preciso è impresa ardua, ma forse assieme a Ozric Tentacles e Dream Theater sono, nel bene e nel male tra i principali rinnovatori del genere progressive negli anni '90. Certo le differenze tra i tre gruppi sono enormi, risultando accomunabili forse solo per virtuosismo: molto meno muscolari e autoreferenziali dei Dream Theater, e meno psichedelici ed elettronici degli Ozric, i Phish sono probabilmente i migliori del terzetto, vantando dalla loro un enciclopedismo spaventoso e un vocabolario armonico ricchissimo, che trova dei degni rivali solo in Frank Zappa, Tom Waits, John Zorn e pochissimi altri (e come per questi artisti un singolo disco non dà un idea esaustiva delle loro possibilità), anche se con un'attitudine meno anarcoide, anzi con una pulizia di suono e una raffinatezza negli arrangiamenti degna di Joni Mitchell.
Il loro spirito è ingenuo e naif, lontano da tentazioni intellettualistiche, e riassume le contraddizioni di un genere nato per essere "Il genere" intellettuale per eccellenza, ma che a parte pochi casi illuminati è diventato al contrario la vetrina per sterili onanismi, incarnando infine il più totale disimpegno, tra draghi, saghe medioevali e arrangiamenti sempre più pesanti, lambiccati e kitch. La musica dei Phish, non nasconde certo particolari sovrastrutture culturali o messaggi, si limita sì ad intrattenere, ma a differenza della stragrande maggioranza dei gruppi prog, lo fa però con ironia, infinito gusto e leggerezza.
Dopo Junta, una prima autoproduzione, che contiene già perle come "Fee", "You Enjoy Myself" e "David Bowie", i quattro ex-colleghi d'università arrivano al primo capitolo ufficiale, questo Lawn Boy, che ha in copertina l'aspirapolvere che in concerto viene suonato dal batterista Jon Fishman, per giunta travestito spesso e volentieri da donna.
La musica del disco è difficilmente descrivibile: delicata e coloratissima, un vorticoso caleidoscopio di generi che si susseguono e si sovrappongono in continuazione, passando con nonchalance dal jazz al bluegrass ("My sweet one"), dal boogie alla bossanova al blues senza soluzione di continuità, come ad esempio nella splendida "Split Open and Melt", degna delle fantasie barocche di Zappa e Ponty, dove si va dalla fusion al funk passando per un coretto celestiale demenziale, o nell'altrettanto Zappiana ma meno riuscita "Bathtub gin".
Trey Anastasio alla chitarra dimostra un eclettismo difficilmente eguagliabile (un incrocio tra Duane Allmann, Marc Ribot, Pat Metheny e John Mclaughlin), e Page O'Connell è un tastierista dal gusto superbo, ma a stupire è soprattutto l'affiatamento del gruppo, che permette ai Phish di condurre anche una fuga atonale con una grazia sorprendente come in "Reba", il miglior brano del disco, che dopo un bellissimo intermezzo di chitarra fusion si chiude imprevedibilmente con una marcetta.
Rispetto ai live e anche al successivo Picture of nectar (l'altro grande disco in studio del quartetto) il sound è molto meno maschio, ma in questo modo emergono pezzi in punta di piedi come l'iniziale "Squirming coil" in bilico tra jazz e pop, o la melodia incantata e malinconica di "Bouncing Around The Room", fantasia quasi minimalista che conclude il disco con un sorriso.
Questo vero e proprio arcobaleno di suoni è una boccata d'ossigeno, nove brani per metter su un divertentissimo e inconcludente laboratorio di mille musiche, e un prezioso omaggio per gli amanti delle suite progressive e delle jam.
Un cd che rappresenta il Pop nella sua più bella e nobile espressione: da avere.
Elenco tracce testi e samples
01 The Squirming Coil (06:01)
The Squirming Coil of sunset
I keep within my reach
Tried yesterday to get away
and hitchhiked to the beach
I saw Satan on the beach
trying to catch a ray
He wasn't quite the speed of light
and the squirming coil
it got away....
The muscles flex the mother's ring
She fastens children to her king
and sends him down the crooked street
When he returns, the birth's complete
Jimmy holds the Tannis root
The forest's tasty nectar shoot
The sun tips off the monarch's suit
from sequined sash to shiny boot
"I'd like to lick the coil some day
Like Icarus, who had to pay
with melting wax and feathers brown
He tasted it on his way down"
Stun the puppy!
Burn the whale!
Bark a scruff and go to jail!
Forge the coin and lick the stamp!
Little Jimmy's off to camp
02 Reba (12:25)
Reba sink a boulder in the water
Reba tie a cable to a tree
Reba stuck in a game of lipstick perfume flypaper
Reba press a razor to a slide cross a needle with a prune
Knee deep in the motel tub
Reba dangle ladle form her lip
Dip
Sip
Reba babble to the nag with the lipstick perfume
Mutter to a farmer in a truck
Take a peek at the cheetah, reba
Cheetah on the prowl in a cage
Sink a boulder in the water
Tie a cable to a tree
Mutter "nature" to the nag
With the lipstick perfume
Reba flush a fleshfarm leftover
Thunder in a circle
Down the pipes
Bag it
Tag it
Sell it to the butcher in the store
(4 times)
Reba put a stopper in the bottom of the tub
Picked up a jar unscrewed the top
And watched it drop into the water
A little scoop of plaster mix
Some coffee grounds and mud
And then she stirred it with the ladle
That her grandmother had bought her
Threw in a pot of melted wax
A forefoot and a hoof
Apple core, worms galore
And a can of some corrosive
Coconuts and chloroform
Some wicker and some cork
Toxic waste, some purple paste
She hoped was not explosive
Reba dip a ladle for a taste of her creation
And she knew that what she make
Would be the finest in the nation
Bag it
Tag it
Sell it to the butcher at the store
(12 times)
(Instrumental)
Bag it
Tag it
Sell it to the butcher at the store
(12 times)
04 Split Open and Melt (04:43)
In the morning I pack up my gear
and toss it in my carryall
Run the wide load to the lip
and watch the big core crack and glow
In the evening I undo my belt
Split open and melt
I wake up on my stomach
with my face between my hands
and crawl along the floor toward the doorway
Jumping to my feet
I try to put myself together
but I feel it in my knees
and the room begins to spin
and I slip and bump my head and raise a welt
Split open and melt
We breathe deep
in a steam dream
and plunge below the water line
down, down, down
between beams
to the gloom room
among the seaweed and the slime
down, down, down
Melt
06 Bathtub Gin (04:28)
Brett is in the bathtub
making soup for the ambassadors
and I am in the hallway
singing to the troubadours
The kings are all lined up
outside the gate
and the autumn bells are ringing
but they'll just have to wait
Where is the joker?
Have you seen him around
with his three coned cap
that he wears like a crown?
Have you seen his stripped stockings
and heard his sad tale
about the kids under the carpet
and the purple humpbacked whales
Here come the ambassadors
they show up one by one
Brett is tasting all the soup
to see if it is done
Wendy's on the windowsill
waiting to be let in
and we're all in the bathtub now
making bathtub gin
The kings storm the hallway
they've climbed up through the gate
they didn't mean to be impolite
but they just couldn't wait
Here comes the joker
with his silly grin
he carries a martini
made of bathtub gin
Here comes the joker
we all must laugh
cause we're all in this together
and we love to take a bath.
07 Run Like an Antelope (09:51)
Rye, rye, rocco
Marco Esquandolas
And been you to have any spike, man?
Run, run, run, run
Run, run, run, run
Run, run, run, run
Run, run, run, run
Set the gearshift for the high gear of your soul
You've got to run like an antelope out of control
08 Lawn Boy (02:31)
Throughout the night
when there's no direct light
and a thin veil of clouds
keeps the stars out of sight
I can smell the colors
outside on my lawn
the moist green organic
that my feet tread upon
and the black oleander
surrounded by blues
I GET SO OVERWHELMED
by olfactory hues
09 Bouncing Around the Room (03:57)
The woman was a dream I had though rather hard to keep
For when my eyes were watching hers,
they closed, and I was still asleep
For when my hand was holding hers,
she whispered words and I awoke
And faintly bouncing around the room the echo of whomever spoke
I awoke and faintly bouncing round the room,
the echo of whomever spoke
The place I saw was far beneath the surface of the sea
My sight was poor but I was sure the sirens sang their songs for me
They dance above me as I sink I see them through a crystal haze
And in a sweet sound bouncing round the never ending coral maze
That time then and once again I'm bouncing around the room
10 Fee (05:23)
In the cool shade of the banana tree
On the rugged trail toward the balcony
A child of the twentieth century
A dried up Goliath and a weasel named Fee
Far away in another place
A fading beauty named Milly Grace
A gospel singer with pox on her face
And a bamboo cane to help her keep the pace
Fee was a Buddhist prodigy
Long past the age of maturity
Someday he knew it would set him free
Like it did for Floyd, the chimpanzee
Whoa, Fee
You're trying to live a life that's completely free
You're racing with the wind, you're flirting with death
So have a cup of coffee and catch your breath
Fee first met Milly in a bar in Peru
His heart was jumping like a kangaroo
Like a beast in a cage in an old Dutch zoo
It was hopping and jumpin' in wooden shoes
But Floyd was jealous and alone
He wanted Milly for his own
A desperate craving in his bones
"Their love," he said, "I will not condone"
Then one day on a ship to Quebec,
Floyd found Fee and Milly on a lover's trek
He picked up a bottle and broke off the neck
It sliced through the air, and Fee hit the deck
Whoa, Fee
You're trying to live a life that's completely free
You want to stay with Milly until you're dead
But you just got a bottle upside the head
Milly turned and began to scream at Floyd
She said, "You think you're pretty mean"
And though she was as thin as a small string bean
She slammed him in the face with a nectarine
Floyd fell back over the edge of the ship
'Till he hung from the rail by his fingertip
Milly said, "Floyd, I'll make you lose your grip,
With this tiny piece of paper I can make you slip"
So Milly took that paper and did the deed
Floyd hit the water with astonishing speed
And as the sharks circled in and began to feed
Milly knew her weasel was finally freed
Whoa, Fee
You're trying to live a life that's completely free
Floyd is dead, he's nothing but a ripple
'Cause Milly took that paper and sliced him on the nipple
Whoa, Fee
You're trying to live a life that's completely free
You're racing with the wind, you're flirting with death
So have a cup of coffee and catch your breath
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